Lucifer needed a drink. Hell, he needed ten (and maybe a line or two of cocaine). His heart was pounding, his head wasn't in the right place, and the remorse churning in his gut was an acid straight out of the sulphur sea. As the doors slid open to his penthouse, though, he thought better of it (the full brunt of his devilishness and drug addiction seemed a bit much to unload on his daughter in one night), and resigned himself to a spot on the Italian leather settee, instead.

He half-expected Sabrina to follow suit, but he couldn't say he was surprised when her first few steps took her to the bar instead. A rocks glass was already in her hand as she ran her fingers over the ornate bottles before settling on an aged whiskey (he couldn't decide if it was misery or irony that she went for the same drink he had earlier in the night).

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, gaze seeking his in silent question just before her hands were set to pour (it was more courtesy than anything; the dull ache for alcohol's sweet numbness was strong on her tongue, but she would choke it down if need be).

A frown set deep into her father's brow as a silent apprehension clouded over his features. "I'd rather you didn't poison yourself so soon," he chided, tone fixed into something final. (She was sixteen, a child – his child. It was out of the question). But he saw the subtle twitch of her fingers, the way they snaked around the bottleneck like a lifeline (something told him that liquor was her friend just as much as it was his). The sting of alcohol down her throat stole the trouble from her mind, if only for a moment, and he understood the need. It was why he built his earthly empire out of drinks and debauchery in the first place.

She set the bottle down with a dejected glance (her thoughts were beginning to overflow, and they needed to be drowned. Ever since things went to hell – quite literally – a strong drink was usually all it took to ease her back), and Lucifer sighed aloud. "But if you must," he gestured for her to go on with a wave of his hand (just this once, he would give her this), "then don't let me stop you."

"Just one," she promised, lips pulled tight into something sullen, something grateful. Filling her cup to the brim (she never said exactly how much that one drink would be), she made her way to the living room, settling in the seat across from his. Not a moment later, the girl held up her glass in a silent toast, before tilting her head back as she took a large sip.

"It's not a way out – drinking. I know that," she clarified, eyebrows knitted together as she set the glass down on the table. She had no idea where the sudden need to defend herself came from (not when the man in front of her didn't seem the least bit judgemental), yet it was a safety, she supposed, another wall she was in no hurry to tear down just yet. "But it's something."

Lucifer nodded, familiar with the escape of one good drink. (He kept her at arm's length all her life, and she still managed to follow in his footsteps. He didn't know how to feel about that.) "And something is better than nothing," he whispered back.

She merely hummed in response, leaning back against the smooth fabric of the couch. A beat passed, then two (Lucifer couldn't stand the baited silence no matter how much he tried), before she finally put her father's misery to an end when she breathed out the one question that stood between them the whole night. "Why did you bail me out?"

(Because no one was coming for you. Because I thought you didn't need me, but maybe you do. Because I'm the reason you're hurting, and you deserve better than being abandoned a second time. Because it breaks my heart to see you lost and alone, and how in the world could I stay away after all of this?)

"You needed help," he answered, short and clipped and not quite a lie (though the truth ran deeper than he cared to admit). "I just happened to be there."

Sabrina paused, considered his words for a second, before nodding her head once. It took all of her willpower not to touch the half-filled glass on the table. "Would you help me again?"

Lucifer's eyes softened (if only she knew that she never had to ask). "As much as you need me to."

She didn't quite know him, didn't quite trust him (yet everything inside of her was telling her to), and if she had to back away, now would be the time to do it. She could have simply thanked him for his time, took the elevator downstairs, hailed a cab to the airport and flew back to Greendale with not so much as a second glance back.

But she didn't.

Sabrina Spellman (Morningstar) knew what she wanted, and she wanted a fighting chance. And if fate was going to take away all of her allies, then by God, she would find a new one. It wasn't a mere coincidence that he was sitting right across from her at that very moment.

She took a deep breath, thought it over once, thought it over twice (though it was fruitless when her mind was already made). This would be the moment that would put everything back together.

"I need you to take me to hell."

This time, it was her father's hands that reached for the whiskey on the table.

"Oh, you don't know what you're asking for, little girl." By then, Lucifer had moved to the balcony, cigarette in hand as he stared out at the fading city lights. It was this kind of peace, this kind of stillness, that made the world difficult to leave. He brought the tobacco to his lips, the nicotine filling every nook and cranny of all that he was before he let it out in a slow breath. The smoke scattered with the wind and blew across the night air. "Hell is not what you think it is."

Sabrina did not like the way he spoke to her, as if she was some child asking for a toy that couldn't be bought. He had no idea what she went through, what she was going to go through all over again, and yet he acted as if he knew better. She abandoned her place on the couch and marched out into the cold evening breeze to join her father, jaw set in determination. "I know what's there. I know what's waiting on the other side," she ground out, brows furrowing in insistence. "I can handle it."

Lucifer sighed and put his cigarette out, turning to face her completely (if her stubbornness was anything like his, it was best to get her delusions over and done with before they got out of hand). "All right, I'll play along. Let's pretend you know all about the horrors of hell, and are fully ready to face its consequences," he looked her right in the eyes, just daring her to prove him wrong. "What makes you think I can – and will – bring you there?"

Sabrina crossed her arms, stared him down (the way only a stone cold witch raised by Zelda Spellman could do). When he didn't so much as flinch, she knew right then and there that she was dealing with the best of them.

"Look, I can see you have some sort of powers. And you speak hell's language so flawlessly, which not even our high priest could do. You and I both know you've been there before." She broke away from his gaze and let out an exasperated breath, setting her sights on the skyline, instead (the glass towers probably wouldn't take much convincing to stand with her). "Besides, I've opened its gates once. I'm sure I could do it again, I just need to figure out how."

Lucifer almost wished he had a drink in hand just so he could spit it back out. (It didn't help that she looked so sure of herself, looked as if cracking open the gates of hell was just another Wednesday morning).

"You mean," he tightened his jaw, trying his best to be patient but edging closer to temperament with every passing breath. (He promised himself long ago that his daughter would never live to see the flames of the pit, would never know of its agony. To find out that she had already experienced it first-hand was to negate the very reason he stayed away in the first place.) "You've been to hell?"

She shook her head, a faraway look on her face. "No, I never went inside. Just saw a glimpse, but that was all."

"And?" Her father urged, somewhat appeased but unsettled still. "Did you like what you saw? Enough that you want to do it again?"

Sabrina had the sense that she was playing a losing game, and no matter what she said, her dark-haired companion wouldn't understand. It took everything in her not to pull her hair in frustration, in fear of being mistaken for a petulant child (and even if she did have a certain notoriety for petulance in the past, it would do everyone well not to bring it up). "It's not like that, okay? I'm not going there to have the time of my life. I'm risking my life because someone down there did me dirty, and I'm gonna make them pay."

"You think that's all your life is worth? Revenge?" He looked at her incredulously. "You have no idea the lengths people have gone through to see you unharmed, and you're throwing it away. And for what? A chance to get back at someone who's already well on their way to damnation?"

Sabrina pursed her lips, gave him a hard glare. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Her father pointed a finger back at her. "That's where you're wrong, darling. I know all about retribution. Heavens, it's all I did for the past millennia. And let me tell you, there's no sense in getting even with the dead. If the person you're after is already in hell, I assure you, they will be paying for their sins tenfold. I can make sure of that." He noticed his voice growing in volume with every word he spoke, and brought it back down before his temper could get the best of him (which was particularly difficult, not just with his daughter's relentlessness, but with the thought of anyone having hurt her without his knowledge).

He calmed himself with a deep breath and looked at her, eyes imploring. "Please, child, spare yourself the trouble. Whatever needs to be done, let me take care of it. Trust me, nobody is worth going to hell for."

Convinced that he has said his piece (and delivered it well enough to render the girl speechless), he turned his back to her, footfalls taking him inside as he sought out a much-needed drink. It was nice to see that his innate powers of persuasion haven't surrendered to time just yet. Before he could get past the balcony doors, however, her voice suddenly pierced through the newly-settled silence, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"My father," she called out.

(The sulphur in his stomach was burning more than ever, and he was out of words.)

Lucifer swung back around to face her, a hesitancy shrouding his worn features. "What did you say?"

Sabrina blew out a low breath. "My father is worth going to hell for. He built my life into some sort of charade and took away everything from me. And I don't care if he's already in the abyss, he's still not dead." She met his eyes then, and though he knew the beautiful, destructive rage kindled in them was not pointed at him, he feared for her (all that she was, and all she was to become) just the same. "And I won't rest until he is."

He never meant to lie to her, to keep things from her. Somewhere along the way, it just seemed safer to shield her from whatever it was that could bring her pain (yet he already caused her suffering, whether she knew it or not, and there was no sense in keeping out the light any longer). He walked back out into the night air to join her, bracing himself for the coming torrent all the while. Stopping in front of her, his eyes met hers in a faltering glance. "Darling, your father is not where you think he is."

The girl almost laughed at the thought (as if all their efforts were fruitless; as if she surrendered Nicholas, her life, her family for nothing). "No, he's in hell. I made sure of it."

It was inevitable. He was going to break her heart all over again, but it needed to be done. (It didn't mean he was all too eager to do it either way). "Sabrina…" he trailed off.

Whatever amusement she held ran dry when she heard him speak her name for the very first time all evening. There was a remorse to it, a trepidation, that steeled her insides and made her doubt everything she was ever sure of. (But then again, how could he know, how could he possibly know, when she, herself, didn't know a thing about him?) "He is down there…isn't he?"

(He'd been dreading the thought all evening, perhaps all these sixteen years, come to think of it, but time and circumstance had never been kind to him, and he didn't expect either one to help him now). Lucifer drew in a shaky breath. "I think it's best if you sat down. There's something you need to know."